Damage Control
by Alyana Kirin
Summary: Zim & Dib, struggling with their lives. Dib still shoulders the weight of the world and the problems inherit in being a teen. Zim's ego has taken a severe blow after years of failure & being cut off from Irk. Rated M for violence & later things. maybe zad
1. Chapter 1: Ouchies

Callused hands bruised the sensitive skin of his neck, rubbing it raw as Dib twisted and turned in a blind panic. He could fight aliens, ghosts and big foot but he seemed unable to survive any encounter involving a fellow human. Dib's train of thought was violently derailed as a meaty fist slammed into his stomach. Gasping he bucked against the lockers, clawing at the sweaty arm that held him pinned there. Already his glasses had been broken and he was pretty sure that he would pass out from asphyxiation at any moment.

"You stupid" _punch _"little" _slam _"pussy!" As if to emphasize his accusation Torque rammed his fist into his prey's face. Dib continued to breathe heavily, coughing every now and then to clear his throat of blood. He flinched when he saw the red blur that was Torque's blood spattered fist rise for the next attack but… nothing. Despite his lack of glasses, Dib could make out blurs but that wasn't much help in the next several seconds. Torque's body jerked suddenly and he released Dib's throat, letting the boy slide down the lockers to the floor where he huddled in pain. A dull thud landed beside Dib but he ignored it in favor of whimpering on the floor. Just as he'd begun to gain control of his breathing Dib's body was wracked with pain. It felt like someone had kicked him.

Zim glared at the mindless violence. Here was his foe, his enemy, his sole reason for failure getting pummeled by a neanderthal of it's own race. Wait, what did the humuns call it nowadays? Oh yeah, pwnage. Dib was getting pwned. Zim cackled quietly. He liked the blunt simplicity of the young humuns language. He'd even caught himself saying "lawl" when Dib was struck by a particularly strong laser from one of him guard gnomes. Heh. You could see the dirt child's hair burning.

The sickening thud of thick flesh hitting not so thick flesh brought Zim back to the present. At this rate, Torque would completely incapacitate the Dib-thing, perhaps even force it to visit the hospital. A small pout drifted across the Irken's face. If anyone was going to mangle the Dib-puke it would be the almighty Zim.

Decision made, he stalked toward the entangled duo, inwardly grimacing at the thought of having to touch them. Once he was close enough to smell the stench of fear and sweat he paused and looked around. It was between classes and luckily Torque had been smart enough to first pull Dib into a side hallway before destroying his face. Zim was easily shielded from Dib's view by the almighty girth that was Torque but he was being cautious on purpose. The last thing he needed was for Dib to think he'd saved him…even if he was going to kill the poor boy later.

A spider leg slid silently from his pak and the claws clacked together to form a crude club. The mechanical leg moved awkwardly, used to performing subtle small movement, not made for brute force. With a thunk that seemed to echo through the halls, the makeshift club slammed into the back of Torque's skull and hovered in the air, waiting to see if another blow was necessary. The bully was still for several moments, fist poised above Dib's cowering form, ready for the next blow. Zim was just about to bring the leg down again when a shudder rippled through the boy's body. Muscles jerked and Dib dropped to the floor seconds before Torque's body joined him on the cold linoleum.

Aside from Dib's pained moans, the only noise in the hall was the near silent hiss of the leg retreating into the pak. Iridescent pink eyes glared at the shivering boy from behind contact lenses. This- this pitiful thing…this was why he hadn't yet conquered this pitiful thing they called a planet? Zim sneered and felt rage begin to build in his squeeglyspooch. Stepping carefully over Torque's prone body, so as not to get blood on his shoes, Zim stood over Dib and let his anger wash through his body in waves.

Whack. Though he felt no better for it, Zim planted his steel plated boot into Dib's chest several times until he felt sick. This wasn't the way to win. He'd wait until Dib was well again and then crush the teenager in his prime. His revenge would be slow and cruel. The shrill of the hi-skool's bell echoed through the halls. A crowd soon formed around the bloodied unconscious bodies of the two teenagers on the floor. No one noticed the lithe green figure that slipped out of the doors, leaving skool early.


	2. Chapter 2: Scars

Author's Note I know that it has been far too long since my last update but that will change. My passion for this story has been ignited once more and I will try my best to keep writing. I love writing so much and I know this is going to sound like a plea for attention but it really isnt. If you like this story or see something you think should be corrected then please spend two minutes of your time writing me a review telling me so. You wouldn't believe how much every review means to me. Well, here you go. Chapter two of Damage Control. (P.s. I don't own any of these characters)

Dib slowly dragged himself from unconsciousness. As the numbing darkness receded he began to regret entering the waking world. Unfortunately, the process of waking up is something that can rarely be reversed once started and his body was informing him that it'd had enough rest. The pain was sudden and merciless. He was suddenly aware of every bruise, every cut and every frayed nerve. Even the small twitch of his eyelids caused a wave of agony to course through his veins. It felt as if someone had pumped him full of glass shards and then rolled him down a hill, then let wild dogs gnaw on his face. That's exactly what it felt like.

The looming machines glared down at him, displaying every little detail of his physical being. Each one identical to the other, encased in bland off white plastic, unmarred and clean. One machine made a whirring noise as it booted up and Dib couldn't help but sigh in release. He'd spent more time than he'd like to admit in this room and he'd learned to love that particular device. It administered pain relievers whenever Dib was under serious stress or the pain woke him from his sleep.

Dib's moan was borderline sexual as the pain receded. He looked around him, taking in the details that his pain and caused to go unnoticed. He was in the same sterile, white room he always ended up in after particularly bad fights. Seeing his son come in with broken bones and torn skin on a regular basis had prompted Dr. Membrane to build a medic center in the basement of his house for the sole purpose of treating his son's many wounds. While the room was bland and looked like a regular hospital rooms there were several little things that hinted at the existence of a regular occupant. On the bedside table was a dock for Dib's iPod and several pairs of black pants and t-shirts had been hastily shoved in a small metal cabinet near the foot of the medical cot. In the corner of the room sat a black computer. It's contrast with it's blindingly bright surroundings caused it to continuously draw one's gaze.

The most out of place object in the room was not a personal item of Dib's but a full length mirror in one corner with a white bed sheet draped over it. When his eyes landed on it, Dib felt the same compulsion to tear down the linen barrier and look at his reflection that always tugged at him. Yet, more often than not, Dib could not force himself to look at his reflection. The teenager tended to avoid mirrors as a whole in his life. But had been months since his last self-evaluation and the revolting craving was stronger than usual.

After carefully peeling off various electrodes and delicately removing needles, Dib slowly slid his legs over the edge of the bed and sat there for several minutes, indecision coursing through him. At last he sneered and dropped to the floor, able to stand thanks only to the painkillers. He strode to the shrouded mirror ready to face whatever it's crystalline depths held but froze, hand poised to pull down the sheet. Morphine deadened fingers grazed the white fabric as his hand trembled. Did he really want to look? Was it necessary? It wasn't that big of a deal anyway…was it? Anger at his own weakness coursed through him, causing his numbed skin to prickle and with a force of will power the sheet flew off and Dib was left staring at what he could only assume was him.

Pale skin gleamed in the fluorescent lighting as Dib stood clothed only in a pair of battered old jeans. Scars. That was the first thing anyone would notice. The scars. Small ones, big ones, ones caused by knives, others by burns, most accumulated from fights. Some self-inflicted. Even though it had been over half a year since he'd last looked at them, there were few new ones. Over the years, Dib's battles with Zim had become less frequent but that wasn't necessarily a good thing. Though the fights were few and far between they had become more ruthless. The plans more intricate, the attacks better planned and the effects more damaging.

Some scars Dib recognized immediately but others were simply ones he couldn't remember acquiring. Many of the less memorable battles had blurred into one endless fight. The symbol of the Irken Invaders had been cut into the bottom of Dib's back, right where spine met waist. That was one of the battles Dib remembered clearly. Shaking his head, the boy dispelled the memory and continued his examination, turning this way and that in the mirror. His father had offered to remove the scars, but Dib knew he could never do that. They were the only proof he had.

No one ever believed the "insane" boy when he told them of what he'd accomplished, what he'd sacrificed and what he'd suffered to save his planet time and time again. He'd been locked into institutions for the mentally unstable more times than he could count…the towns local hospital even had a custom fitted straight jacket on call just for Dib. These scars were the only evidence he had that he'd rescued his planet from near destruction and Dib wouldn't give them up for anything. Part of it was pride in his accomplishments, but that was a very small and fast diminishing part. The joy he'd felt in his victories as a child had begun to dim long ago and Dib rarely felt anything after his fights with Zim anymore. The real reason he could not let go of these scars was fear. He was afraid that without these blatant reminders of battles gone by he'd begin to forget…begin to doubt. So Dib kept these pale stripes of deformed flesh, not as the badges of victory and defeat, but as painful reminders of what he'd been through.

Hours passed and Dib still stood in front of the mirror, the only sound in the room his shallow breathing as he relived the pain and suffering of a thousand battles. The painkillers eventually wore off and Dib rapidly lost strength, both mentally and physically. After what felt like days his legs gave out and his limp body slid down the front of the mirror, smearing it's reflective service.

A blur of time, unconsciousness randomly overtaking the waking world in an endlessly shifting battle. Dreams and reality blurred, interrupted only by sudden piercing pain. The sole occupant of the room lay huddled on the ground, knees clasped to his chest, cheeks stained with tears and only his scars to keep him company on the cold floor.


	3. Chapter 3: Not Crying

Author's Notes: chapter 4 will be up within the next day or so. My computer broke and I had to spend forever trying to fix it and salvage files but everything is ok now, sorry it took so long. Send me comments, complaints, and suggestions if you think things need to change. I could definitely use the help. If there are lots of mistakes then please excuse them, I try to edit it as best I can but without a beta I know there are things that I miss.

Struggling to wipe the crusted flakes of tears long dried from his blurry eyes, Dib made a pitiful attempt at standing, only to fall flat on his back.

"Sssss…FUCK! Fuck this fuckin' fuck shit fuck! God damned floor, god damn wounds, gawd…damned…ZIM!" Dib's rambly tirade subsided into weak mumbling until he was left lying on the ground, broken ribs jarred from the landing and no energy left to swear. Closed eyes could not blot out the buzzing fluorescent lights, their rays seemed to worm their way under the rims of his eyelids. Turning his head in a futile attempt to escape them his forehead collided with the stand of the mirror with a noise reminiscent of dropping a rock into pudding. Dib's arms reflexively wrapped around the abused area while the rest of his body assumed the fetal position. Unfortunately, his legs moved a little too zealously and they rammed into the remains of his ribcage.

A long, nonsensical string of swear words later, Dib was ready to be anywhere but his little medical cell. The bones of his back rippled under their thin veil of pale skin as the boy half crawled half fell to the wires he had torn from his body what felt like years ago. With the ease of a veteran heroin addict, Dib reinserted various needles and electrodes until nearly half of the hovering machines flickered to life in response. Dib ignored all but one of their incandescent screens. The excessive hook ups were necessary only to get the morphine administer active. It would not free the boy from his hellish pain unless its brethren confirmed that Dib was actually in need of relief.

Clammy skin gratefully absorbed the shock of icy metal as Dib leaned against the bed railing, thin fingers sliding the glasses from the stand onto his eyes. What to do, what to do? A quick glance at the clock on the wall told the boy that it was 3:37 pm of the 17th of March. It was Thursday which meant he'd missed two days of skool. _Not that I fucking care, _he thought, lips curling in a drug numbed half snarl. He'd never learned a damn thing from that skool anyway. The only positive thing about getting his body pulverized was that he could probably squeeze another week of absenteeism out of it. Dib gritted his teeth in annoyance. Something was gnawing at the edges of his thoughts, trying to gain his attention but every time he tried to focus on it, it would skitter away. Doing his best to ignore the nagging feeling he focused on the slow deadening of his body. Sharp pains dulled to throbbing aches which eventually gave way to a pleasant numb feeling.

Peeling his back from the metal railing Dib ran a thorough a check of his body, poking and prodding several wounds to test their durability. Just because he couldn't feel the pain didn't mean that he wasn't still injured. Several pokes and prods later, he deemed himself able to travel. A sharp reflection of light drew the boy's attention and before he realized what he was doing, Dib found himself once more gazing into the full length mirror. His violent reaction to yesterday's physical inspection had left him emotionally drained and looking into its reflective depths failed to render him panicked. Not to mention the fact that he was doped up on morphine.

This time Dib looked at all the things he'd failed to notice the day before. His skin was paler than usual due to being fed intravenously; neither his father nor sister had the time to bring food down to him, and staying under artificial light for over forty eight hours. His hair hung limp and dirty around his face, all except the mysterious scythe lock which forever hovered over his head, earning him odd looks by people on the streets. Other than that Dib looked like his usual gaunt, malnourished self. The nagging feeling returned and Dib, frustrated, struggled to pinpoint its source. After several minutes of deep contemplation he realized what it was.

Nipples. He could see his own nipples. Without thinking, he reached up a hand and poked one of the pink nubs, only to flinch in horror. Dib nearly tripped over his own feet to reach the trunk of clothing at the foot of the cot. Digging frantically through the neatly folded clothing, and looking much like a retarded shirtless mole, he squealed in triumph as he violently tugged a ratty old tee-shirt over his head. There was a brief struggle in which his head got caught in the neck of the shirt but with a mighty tug, and a muttered "my head's not big", Dib turned to look at his now nipple-free reflection.

Only to find five inches of midriff and a belly button oddly resembling a squinty eye staring back at him. He'd forgotten that most of the clothes in this room were old, some dating back to elementary skool. No one had seen the need to update the contents of the selection of clothing. Dib's drug clouded mind tried to think of a solution but came up empty. His room was upstairs and once he climbed the stairs out of the basement and then the ones to his room he doubted he'd have the energy to come down them. The only room downstairs was Gaz's but any clothing he found in there was like to be more revealing than what he was wearing. Unbidden, a small green dress formed in his imagination and slid over his reflection in the mirror.

_I could so pull it off- __agh__ no! What the fuck?! _Palm met forehead several times as Dib tried to violently dislodge the memory of the thought from his brain. Screw his midriff, he'd just have to deal with it. With the determination of a sober alcoholic, Dib grabbed his laptop and headphones then marched up the stairs and out of the house.


End file.
